


i hate you in spanish

by MaramMarks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Clueless Boys, Fluff, IT GETS REAL GAY REAL QUICK, M/M, basically just a lot of flirting, klance, this is basically cotton candy theres essentially no angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9845531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaramMarks/pseuds/MaramMarks
Summary: Lance turned to look at Keith, still collapsed on the bed, glaring. This was perfect. Of all the people to be locked in a room half-naked with, Lance got stuck with Keith. He was suddenly aware of how very not dressed and soaking wet he was. There was a puddle of water beneath him on Keith’s floor."So, could I, uh . . . borrow some pants?"-The castle's heating breaks and Keith and Lance are locked in together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay! this was totally going to be a "baby its cold outside" christmas fic but then i waited until february to write it so, oops? my bad. hopefully you still enjoy it! theres still some lil shout outs to the original concept in there so uh, merry belated christmas everybody!

Lance was just starting to lose himself in the strong, warm embrace of the Castle's water pressure when the shower suddenly turned ice cold. 

"EEET!" he shrieked, practically tripping over the side of the tub as he scrambled to escape the freezing stream. His legs got tangled up in the curtain and he had to clutch on the towel rack for support, water dripping everywhere beneath him into puddles on the floor. The bathmat was effectively devoid of purpose as he stood atop it, completely drenched, his feet sinking uncomfortably into the soggy fabric. He reached a hesitant hand back inside the shower to switch off the water, wincing as the cold made contact once again with his skin. 

He knew with immediate and flaming certainty that Keith was behind this. Their rooms were right next to each other, it would make sense for their pipes to be directly connected, or whatever. That bastard must have been using all the hot water, leaving Lance to freeze. He wrapped a towel quickly around his waist and treated himself to a few more seconds of the bathrooms' collected steam before venturing out to give that selfish asshat a piece of his mind. 

Stepping into his room, Lance was overwhelmed by the temperature change. He could feel goosebumps prickling up all over his arms and legs as he took three large strides to the door, trying to keep his wet feet off as much of the carpeted floor as possible. The hallway was worse; he drew in a sharp gasp at how goddamn cold it was out there. He could see his own breath! Who the hell was cranking the AC in outer space? He briefly considered diving back into his room for something more than a towel, but decided against it as a) he was already outside, and he was lazy and b) it would ruin the dramatic effect of him storming in, sudsy hair and all, with nothing but a towel on as he tore Keith a new one. Besides, Keith's door was literally five steps away.

He banged his fist against the frame three times, then waited with his arms crossed. It took Keith and infuriating fifteen seconds to answer; fifteen seconds for Lance's already-present anger to stew. 

Keith scanned the drippy boy up and down once, clearly confused, then locked eyes. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can help me, Keith!" Lance exclaimed, taking a step to get right up in Keith's face. This advance only had the effect of sending Keith back a few feet into his room, but Lance just rolled with it, backing the other boy all the way up to the far-side wall. "You can help me by not using all the hot water like an asshole!"

"What?" Keith asked, clearly confused but remaining cool (and not at all intimidated by how close Lance was getting, which was aggravating). 

"You used up all the hot water and my shower turned to ice!" Lance shouted, throwing his arms in the air. He ignored the fact that his towel was slipping; he couldn't afford to jeopardize these dramatics. 

Keith stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, letting a beat of silence pass. "Do I look like I just got out of the shower to you?"

“Y—" Okay. Lance had to give him that. Keith was standing before him perfectly dry and fully clothed—well, almost fully clothed. He wasn't wearing that ugly cropped jacket that Lance had basically come to regard as his second layer of skin. "Huh."

"And we live in a magical alien castle," Keith reminded him. "Do you really think we can just run out of hot water?"

"Fair point," Lance conceded, arms falling to his side. He felt his face heating up as he took a step out of Keith's personal bubble. "Well I, uh . . . I feel foolish." 

"Yeah. I get that." Keith nodded in mock sympathy, a smile twisting at his lips. "Pretty embarrassing, barging into my room practically naked."

"I didn’t . . .” now Lance could really feel his cheeks turning red. What idiocy had possessed him into thinking this—under any circumstances—would have been a good idea? Before he could finish articulating a defense, they were interrupted by the sound of Keith's door slamming shut behind them.

"What the—“

"Paladins! The castle is experiencing a major malfunction!" Allura's voice came over the intercoms. "Our heating units have completely shut down—it took a few hours for the situation to become apparent, but now the interior temperature is decreasing at an alarming rate. I'm sure I don't need to explain to you all how critical heat is in space . . ."

"Oh what the fuck . . ." Keith muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed. Lance ignored him.

"Coran has managed to seal in certain areas of the castle in order to maintain heat as long as possible--your rooms, the bridge, and the control room are all locked down. Do not, I repeat, do not leave your rooms under any circumstances until we have the heating fixed."

"Are you kidding me?!" Keith exclaimed, marching over to the little box on the wall between his bed and the door. He punched a button and spoke, "Allura? Lance is here, can he just go back to his own r—“

"Absolutely not!" came Allura's reply. "We've locked you in—just sit tight until we can figure this out." 

“Wait—Keith and Lance are locked in a room together?" Pidge's voice cracked through the speaker. She was cackling. 

"Oh boy, that won't end well," Hunk joined in."

Shiro's tone was much more serious. "Guys, try to get along until Allura and Coran have this figured out, please?"

"Allura you don't understand—I don't have pants!" Lance exclaimed, pushing Keith down onto his bed and pressing his still-wet index finger against the mic button. 

“I’m sorry—you don't have _what?!_ " 

At least Pidge was finding joy in all of this. Lance pressed the button again. "Pants! I just got out of the shower, I'm all soapy and wet and naked."

"That's . . . um . . ." Shiro faded out once he realized he really had nothing to say.

"Borrow something from Keith—now, everyone quiet. We must focus.” 

Silence. 

Lance turned to look at Keith, still collapsed on the bed, glaring. This was perfect. Of all the people to be locked in a room half-naked with, Lance got stuck with Keith. He was suddenly aware of how very _not dressed_ and _soaking wet_ he was. There was a puddle of water beneath him on Keith’s floor.

"So, could I, uh . . . borrow some pants?"

* * *

Lance was skinny, but Keith was downright ridiculous. How the hell did anyone fit into these—these—

"Leggings?!"

"They're not leggings."

"Dude, these are absolutely leggings."

"They are not! They're just pants."

"Super tight pants with a stretchy waist."

"Yeah, a stretchy waist that you _still_ can't squeeze your fat ass into."

Lance paused, granting Keith the burn. "Whatever, meggings."

"Do you want them or not?! Jesus." Keith was sitting at the end of his bed, waiting for Lance to finish changing into the borrowed clothes. For reasons unexplained, his gut felt incredibly tight, and he found himself growing increasingly impatient for Lance to come out. 

Meanwhile, Lance was regarding his reflection in the bathroom mirror, realizing the necessity of underwear and cursing himself for ever leaving his room without it. "I . . . um. Don't you have sweatpants or something?"

"What? No. Why?"

"These're just . . . really tight."

"You've said that already!"

"They're really tight and I don't have anything separating them from my, uh—ah fuck, never mind. Never mind! Whatever. Remember, this is all your fault."

"It's literally not."

The door opened, revealing a very uncomfortable Lance. Keith tried not to think about the implication of the sudden pressure he felt in _down there_ at the sight of Lance wearing his clothes. _Okay, what was_ that _about?_ He played it off by raising his eyebrows and saying, "you look ridiculous."

"It's your ridiculous outfit!"

Keith smirked. "But I can pull it off."

"Arguable." Lance plopped down on the bed to his right and Keith oh-so-discreetly readjusted his position to fold one leg over the other. “How long do you think we’re going to be stuck in here?”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know much about magical castle spaceship repairs.”

“Yeah, me either. I bet Pidge could fix it in about five minutes, thought.”

“She probably could.”

“But she’s locked in her room, too.”

“Yup.” 

“We’re at the mercy of Coran.”

“Basically.” 

Silence fell between them. Keith was trying to focus on visualizing dead puppies, Coran’s food goo, Shiro’s grandmother, _anything_ other than the boy sitting next to him, when he picked up on the tune Lance was humming to himself.

“Are you serious?”

Lance jumped a little, clearly embarrassed. “What?! It was stuck in my head—besides, it’s pretty applicable.” 

“ _Baby It’s Cold Outside?”_

“Well, it is! We could literally die if we leave this room.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“Well, sure. But I was thinking about it before, anyway, because I realized something. I’m pretty sure it’s December back on Earth.”

“What does that have to do with creepy old songs?”

“It is not _creepy!”_ Lance exclaimed, shocked. “It is a classic ballad of a socially inappropriate flirtation between two consenting adults.”

“I can’t believe you just formed that sentence. Like those words made it from your brain all the way to your mouth.”

“Shut up! You don’t drag the Christmas classics.”

“Oh,” Keith said, the meaning dawning on him. “Christmas. Right.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, his face falling slightly. That was, indeed, what he had been thinking about in the shower prior to being assaulted by ice cold water. “Doesn’t it make you homesick?”

“Uh . . . no,” Keith admitted. “I never really celebrated Christmas.”

“Oh.” Lance suddenly felt incredibly ignorant and insensitive. Of course not _everyone_ celebrated Christmas. “Are you like, Buddhist or something?”

“Was that _racial?”_ Keith teased, pretending to be scandalized.

“What?! No! I just meant—I—just that I could see you being Buddhist. With all the _patience, focus, meditation_ crap. I didn’t mean—“

“Dude, I was kidding. And no, I’m not Buddhist—I’m not anything, really.”

Lance’s expression softened when he realized Keith had just made a _joke._ “Oh—right. Yeah. I mean, my family is super Catholic—talk about stereotypes, right?—but I always think of Christmas as something else, y’know? It’s so commercialized.” 

“Right,” Keith agreed. “And I mean, it’s not like I’ve never done a Christmas or anything. Shiro and I tried to have one the year before he went missing, but neither of us really knew what we were doing. And I’ve been with families that celebrate it before, I just never really . . . participated.” 

“Your parents never did it?”

“I don’t have parents.” Keith was shocked by the ease with which those words emerged. 

“You don’t . . . wait what?” Lance looked perplexed.

“Dude, you’ve _seen_ where I live."

“Well, yeah but I always figured that like . . . I don’t know! You had moved out, or something. You don’t have parents?”

“They died when I was young.”

And then Lance did what _everyone_ does when Keith lets slip that he’s an orphan. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Keith opened his mouth to tell him that he _does mind, thank you very much,_ but what came out instead was, “I don’t know. One day they were there and then they just . . . weren’t.” 

Okay, that was weird. Since when was Keith compelled to be _honest_ with people? But it wasn’t just people, it was Lance; and for reasons beyond what Keith could explain, he felt . . . okay about it. Telling Lance he was an orphan came out as easily as saying he didn’t like vanilla frosting or the color orange. 

“And I guess, I don’t even know if they were my real parents now, with this Galra-genes thing . . .” He couldn’t believe he was still talking. _What are you doing?! What is this word vomit! Stop sharing!_

“That sucks so bad, dude,” Lance said, but Keith found there was something amazing about it. Lance had managed to make _that sucks so bad, dude_ sound like a truly profound, poetic expression of empathy. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“It’s okay . . . thank you.” He shifted uncomfortably. _Great, now Lance knows all this_ stuff _about you, and what are you supposed to do with that?_

“Right. Well, anyway, way to bring down the mood.” Lance teased, snapping back to his old self. “If we ever make it back to Earth, you’re officially invited to Christmas with my family. We’ll show you _una verdadera Navidad.”_

“Did you just speak Spanish?” 

“I’m _Cuban,_ dude.”

“Oh, right.” Keith wanted to punch himself for not putting that together before. Had Lance ever mentioned it before—and would Keith have even been listening? “Like _from Cuba,_ Cuban or . . . ?"

Lance laughed. “I was born there, yeah, but I grew up mostly in the states.”

“You don’t have an accent."

“Everyone has some sort of accent.” 

“I guess that’s true.” 

_“¿Hablas otro idioma?”_

“Uh . . .”

“Do you speak any other language?” 

“I used to speak Korean.”

“Used to?”

“When I was a kid, yeah. We’d speak Korean at home sometimes.”

“Is ‘Kogane’ Korean?”

“Nope.” Keith smiled at the irony. “Japanese. Add that to the list of shit I don’t understand about myself. But . . . to be totally honest, I’m not sure about my ethnicity. I mean, specifically.”

Lance nodded, a faux-serious expression on his face. “Mm, yes, I understand the confusion. Keith is a pretty white-ass name.” 

They were both smiling now. 

“Says the guy named _Lance . . ._ And isn’t your last name _McClain?_ That’s not very Spanish. _”_

“ _Mi papá es_ Irish-American,” Lance said, emphasizing the blandness of an American accent. The two of them laughed. “So, you’re what? Part-Korean, part-Japanese, part-ambiguous white nationality, part-Galra?”

“College applications were a lot of fun for me,” Keith teased, uncrossing his legs. An obvious joke—neither he nor Lance had had to apply for colleges. The Garrison was sort of a life-long commitment, after all. 

“The _really_ funny part, though . . .” He felt the word vomit coming again, but didn’t try so hard to stop himself this time. “I’m from Texas.”

“You’re _what?!”_ Lance roared. He wrapped his arms around his stomach as he doubled over, laughing.

Keith was smiling. “Yeah my dad . . . shit. My dad had the accent.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

“Nope.”

“And he spoke Korean to you?! That sounds so ugly—“ Lance caught himself. “Er, no offense.”

Keith waved it off, chuckling. “It probably _was,_ not that I would have known the difference. God, I probably had a terrible accent, that’s so embarrassing.”

“You can’t speak it at all anymore?”

Keith shrugged. “I dream in it, sometimes, but it’s harder for me to speak than to understand, if that makes sense.” 

“You just need to practice with someone.”

Keith acted out looking around the room for something. “See anyone around here who can speak Korean?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Pidge could.” Lance shrugged. 

“Good point, actually.” Keith knew he’d never actually ask her, though. It wasn’t like they needed Korean in space or anything . . . He pulled up his left knee and rested his arm against it. “Hey, do you think it’s weird all these aliens speak English?”

“YES!” Lance agreed enthusiastically, startling Keith slightly. “Oh my god, I”m so glad someone finally said it! I’ve been thinking about it this whole time—like Allura and Coran? They were frozen for ten thousand years! The English language hasn’t even existed for that long.” 

“When we first got here I thought maybe the castle had some way of translating everything for us—you know like in those sci-fi movies where the alien just wears a helmet or whatever and it can communicate with humans? But then we started landing on planets and stuff and it’s still all English.” 

“I didn’t even think of that—I just kind of went with it and realized how weird it was later.” Lance chuckled. “And—how about how we have universal language but _not_ time? What’s with all this ‘tick’ bullshit?”

“And the air! What are the odds the Altean atmosphere is identical to Earth’s?” 

“I don’t know, man, but I’m living for the day we land on a Spanish-speaking planet _._ ” 

“Or buy some complicated piece of space-furniture where the instructions are only in Korean.” 

The joke caught Lance off guard and he laughed—hearty and genuine—and grabbed Keith’s arm. “Can you _imagine?_ That would be hilarious!”

Lance’s gut-laugh was ugly, there was no denying it. But Keith found he loved it—and what he loved more was that _he_ made it happen. The realization caused a surge of warmth in his chest, despite the dropping temperatures. 

And they were . . . dropping. “Hey, does it feel colder in here to you?” He straightened out his legs and stood up, his bare feet sinking slightly into the cool fabric of the carpet. Curling his toes, he began scanning the walls for any type of thermostat, or whatever the magic castle equivalent would be. 

“Yeah my nipples are pretty much rock solid.”

Keith grabbed a pillow from the end of the bed and chucked it at Lance’s head, his face burning. “Lance!”

“What! I’m just being honest. I thought that’s what were doing here, bonding or whatever.”

“Okay, but there’s still stuff you don’t _need_ to tell me.”

“Pft, do you see how tight this shirt is on me? It’s not like this is top secret information or anything.”

Keith couldn’t remember the last time his face had actually _hurt_ from smiling so much. “Okay, okay. Do you want a jacket or something?” 

Lance paused. The way Keith asked was so casual, so natural, like it was something that happened all the time. Borrowing each others jackets. Cool. Fine. Then again, Lance _was_ wearing an entire set of Keith-clothes, at that moment. “That’d be great, actually.” 

Keith retrieved the red cropped nightmare from a chair at the end of his bed and tossed it. Lance caught it easily and slid his arms inside, shocked to find the hideous garment was actually kind of comfortable. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Really though, it’s definitely colder than it was . . .” Keith approached the door and started running his hands along the cracks where it met the wall. No air was coming through, which was a good sign, but still. He dropped to his stomach in one fluid motion and pressed his hands against the base of the door. 

In doing so, he had accidentally hiked up the fabric of his shirt and pined it down that way beneath him, exposing part of his middle. Lance found himself staring at the gap of skin and thinking to himself, _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_. _Remember the ice cold shower Lance._ “Hmm . . .”

“I don’t feel any air current.” Keith ran his hands over the base of the door once more, just to double check.

“Hmm . . .”

He stood up quickly—too quickly, he swayed a bit—and went for the closet. He looked over at Lance and saw his eyes were glassed over. “What’s wrong?”

“What?!” Lance snapped to attention. “Nothing—what?!”

“You’re so weird.” He opened up the closet.

“What are you looking for?”

“Spare blankets.”

“Oh. That’s uh . . . that’s smart.” He found sudden difficulty in formulating complete sentences. What was going on? Stupid Keith and his stupid smile and his stupid bare back. He ran his hands up and down the comforter on Keith’s bed, which was pretty much identical to his own except for the fact that Lance’s comforter smelled like Lance, which meant Keith’s would indisputably smell like Keith, and why did he have the sudden urge to bury his face into the bed and breath it in? He felt very antsy, like he could jump out of his own skin. _Was_ it getting colder? Lance was practically sweating. 

“So, what do you miss most?” Keith asked, his back still turned to Lance. He was reaching up to a shelf above his head where extra blankets were stacked, but his arms weren’t quite long enough. 

“What?”

“About Earth.” Keith grunted as he succeeded in pulling the blankets down, causing them to fall right into his face. He turned around and walked back towards the bed. “You said you were feeling homesick.”

“I did?” he took the blanket Keith was holding out to him and placed it over his legs. 

Keith grinned a little, in a way that said, _yes, you weirdo. We were just talking about this._ “Because of Christmas songs?”

“Right! _Baby It’s Cold Outside.”_

“Correct.” Keith pulled one of the blankets around his shoulders and climbed back onto the bed, his knees pulled up against his torso so the blanket would cover his legs as well. Lance tried not to think about how adorable he looked. 

“I guess . . . well, music. I really miss listening to music.” 

“Allura plays music, sometimes.”

Lance grimaced. “Eugh, yeah, her weird Altean ballroom junk. I mean real, Earth music. Like Ritchie Valens—or Beyonce.”

“Oh yeah, because those two are totally similar.”

“I have eclectic taste,” Lance stated proudly, tilting his nose in the air.

Keith nodded, rolling his next words around in his mouth for a moment before they made it out into the air. “We could always make our own music.”

“ _I’m sorry?!”_ Lance yelped, his voice cracking slightly.

Keith didn’t blush, or look away, or even _blink._ How did he do that? “Yeah, you know. Try and find some alien instruments at the next stop and figure them out. If language is basic enough to be shared throughout the galaxy, I’m sure they have like, guitars and drum kits.” 

“Can you play anything?”

“Mm,” Keith hummed out. He started to rock slowly, back and forth. “Piano. You?”

_Fuck, that’s hot._ “I—uh, yeah. I can kinda play guitar. I don’t know how to read music or anything, though. My dad just taught me a few chords one summer and I kept going from there.”

Keith smiled, remembering. “Shiro can play guitar.”

“Well, we’ve basically got a band! We just need to teach Pidge bass and Hunk drums and Voltron has a solid fallback career as a rock band,” Lance joked. “You already have these tight pants ready to go.” 

“Are they really that tight?”

“I would tell you to look for yourself, but actually _don’t_ do that, because that would be horrifically embarrassing. I don’t understand how you fit into these things and—“ he stopped himself from finishing that thought, because the rest of it was incredibly gay, and _jesus Lance, it’s_ Keith. He cleared his throat. “Well, anyway. What about you, I bet you listen to like—heavy metal or whiny emo alt rock.” 

“I like the Rolling Stones—“

“ _Pretentious.”_

_“_ —and the Beach Boys. Billy Joel.”

“Oldies.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It was just what I had on tapes when I was living in the desert.”

“ _Tapes,_ like cassette tapes?” Lance couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why was Keith so weird? And why had Lance ever entertained the thought that this guy—this dropout, orphan, living in the desert on some soul-searching mission and listening to _cassette tapes—_ was _cool_ , was enviable? Keith was a fucking nerd.

“Yeah.”

“Those things are _fossils,_ dude. My _mom_ used to have cassette tapes.” He said _mom_ as if it were a true testament to the antiquity of the technology, which Keith found oddly charming. 

“Well I didn’t have like, internet connection or anything—“

“—at all?!”

“No, dude, how would I have paid for that? And I found an old box in the basement and just would pop them in while I worked on . . . stuff.”

“Right. Your crazy spiritual _the Earth is speaking to me_ map stuff.”

“Ha, yeah. That.” 

“It was pretty incredible,” Lance admitted. “That you figured all that stuff out, I mean. Found Shiro.”

Keith smiled. “Thanks.”

“It was also _very weird.”_

Keith rolled his eyes and pulled his legs up closer to his chest. “You can never just hand me a compliment, huh?”

“You have really pretty eyes.”

“What?!”

_Okay, well that happened. No going back now, McClain._ “You have really pretty eyes. That’s it, no backhanded, double-meaning whatever. And I mean it, your eyes are a nice color.”

“Oh . . . thanks, man.” 

“No problem.” _Bro, buddy, friend, pal. Male companion._

“Yours too.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes, they’re gorgeous. And I’m not just stealing your compliment—I’ve always thought that, they’re a really unique shade of blue.” Luckily, Lance had apparently become very fascinated by the floor, and that’s where his gaze was fixed while Keith blushed like an idiot next to him. 

“Oh . . . thank you.” _Shit! ‘Gorgeous,’ he called them gorgeous. How am I supposed to top that? Does he even like boys? Or is he just clueless and really nice?_ He considered replying with another compliment, but the only thing which came to mind was _your ass is fantastic_ which would have rapidly escalated the direction of the conversation, so Lance bit it back. 

“Mhmm . . .” Keith started pulling on a loose thread of his blanket. He wanted to die. “What about other than music?”

“Huh?”

“What else do you miss from Earth?”

“Oh . . . jeez, Idunno.” Lance thought for a moment, breaking his staring contest with the ground to look up. “My family, for sure. And my house. Even the Garrison, kind of, even though I was just getting yelled at all the time. But as for just general Earth things, uh . . . Earth toilet paper.” 

“Yeah, toilet paper is weird here,” Keith agreed easily, like it was something he’d been thinking about too. Which, in fairness, it totally was. Alteans had no idea what they were missing.

“I miss grass.”

Keith smiled and stared out ahead of them. Lance got the idea he was seeing something more than just the bare white wall. “Mm, I miss dirt. And trees.”

Lance was staring again, this time right at Keith’s face. His jaw, his lips, his nose, his eyes . . . He’d seen them all before, but so what? It was a nice face. Without warning, Keith’s eyes shot to him. “What was that?”

_DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?!_

“I—uh. What?”

Keith shot a flash of his teeth when he grinned and Lance’s stomach flipped. “I think you just told me I have a nice face.” 

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What’d you say, then?” 

“I said, uh . . . I said ‘I hate you’ in Spanish.”

Keith was still smiling. “Well, then, I hate you in Spanish, too.”

For a moment, there was silence again. Lance was starting to notice that yeah, it definitely _was_ getting colder in Keith’s room. His hair was still wet on top of his head, which definitely wasn’t helping things. As if Keith could read his mind, he suddenly stood back up and walked over to the intercom. “Hey, guys?”

_What is he doing?_ Lance wondered, watching him carefully. Maybe a little _too_ carefully, but hey, sue him, it’s not like anyone else was in the room. And, as Lance had just recently reminded himself, Keith’s butt was something worth staring at. 

“Please tell me Lance is still alive,” Shiro’s voice came over the intercom. 

“Your faith in me is astounding,” Keith said. There was practically an eye-roll in his voice. “Yes, Lance is alive and well. But my room is getting colder.”

“Mine too,” Hunk said.

“Mine too,” Pidge echoed. 

“Yeah, it’s getting colder in here, too,” Shiro told them. “I think Allura still has her intercom off. Let’s just hope she and Coran are getting to the bottom of this.” 

“Worse comes to worst, you can Lance can always huddle naked for warmth.”

“Pidge!” 

“What?! That’s a legit survival tactic. Body heat is a beautiful thing.” 

“I think I’d rather freeze to death,” Keith said calmly. 

“Yeah? Well, I’d rather—I’d rather freeze to death!” Lance countered, mentally slapping himself. In his defense, the image of him and Keith, naked under the covers had really caught him off guard. 

“Good one.”

“You guys are so adorable.”

“ _Goodbye,_ Pidge.” Keith released the mic button and walked back over to the bed. He resumed his position from before, one leg up and the other stretched out, angling himself so he was open to Lance, who was trying hard not to read too far into that body language. “I feel like we’re going to be stuck in here for awhile.”

“Probably,” Lance agreed. He looked around for a clock. “Do you know what time it is?”

Keith shook his head. “No idea. How long have we been sitting here? I think it was around 7:30 when you came in.”

Coran had set up a system for telling Earth time to help the Paladins know when to sleep, eat, etc. He found it adorable, he had said, how their species still depended so heavily on a system of time no longer applicable as they lived on a spaceship and had no sun to determine days. Although slightly insulted, they were all happy to have the clocks. Except Keith, who apparently did not put one in his room. 

A clock . . . or anything else. Jeez. “What do you _do_ in here?”

“Huh?”

“It’s so empty,” Lance told him. “I mean, I think even Shiro has some translated Altean books in his room. Do you just sit and stare at the ceiling?”

Keith was silent for a moment. Then, “more or less, yeah,”

Lance shook his head. “We gotta get you some posters or something—naked girls on top of cars or whatever.”

Lance hated himself for how obvious that was, but fuck it if it didn’t work. 

“Naked girls aren’t really my thing,” Keith told him scrunching up his nose in disgust. _Lance McClain, investigative detective._ “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Is that what you have on your walls back home? Naked girls?”

_Abort! Abort! Mission backfired._ “God, no. I was kidding.” 

“Hmm . . .”

“I was!”

“Sure . . .” Keith began pulling at the loose thread again, wondering if Lance was totally clueless or teasing him. He figured the former made more sense—for all his teasing, Lance was never vicious. “That’s pretty misogynistic, though.”

“I was kidding!” 

“What would your mother think?”

“Keith!” 

They both laughed a little, but it wasn’t the same as it had been before. There was tension now, and Lance knew with absolute certainty it was his stupid fault. _Naked girls and cars,_ what was wrong with him? And Keith was right, his mother would wash his mouth our with soap if she could hear him. He could practically feel awkward vibes radiating off Keith’s skin—could practically feel the awkward vibes _he_ was imitating. Something had settled in the air between them. But still, Keith found himself hoping the heat stayed off, just a little longer.

“Do you like boys?”

“What?”

Well, there it was. Keith realized he didn’t even feel embarrassed about asking—he couldn’t do the build-up anymore, it was getting to weird. This was Lance, they were teammates. Friends, even. If they couldn’t just _talk_ to each other, what the hell was the point. “Sexually. Do you like boys?”

“I—er. Um, yes,” Lance stuttered out. “Y-you?”

“‘I—er. Um, yes,’ too,” Keith teased. “Like, exclusively.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Is it?”

“Huh?”

“Cool.”

“Oh. Yeah. Being gay is totally cool.” 

Keith snickered. Lance was clearly out of his depth, which was sort of cute, actually. “I think you have a nice face, too, by the way.”

Lance’s entire body froze. Okay, this was happening. He tried to play it cool, turn it into a joke, just like any other conversation they had had. “Stop flirting with me.”

“You started it.”

Fuck. “Are we flirting?” 

Keith shrugged. “I am if you are.”

“That’s not an answer!” 

“ _Are_ we flirting?” Keith’s eyes were dangerous, but playful at the same time. For once, Lance really hated how acutely they brought out each other’s inner twelve-year-old. This could go on for weeks. 

“I’m flirting, yeah,” Lance said, deciding to be the bigger person. 

“Good,” Keith said. “I’m flirting too.”

“Well, don’t feel too special. I flirt with just about everyone.” 

“I don’t,” Keith said. “So I guess _you_ should feel pretty special.” 

“Shit. Okay, I’ll give you that one, that was pretty smooth.” 

“Thanks. I’m pretty good at this, when I want to be.” 

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“Please,” Keith bragged. “I could flirt you under the table.” 

“I could bend you _over_ the table.”

Keith scowled. “That was tacky.”

“But effective.” 

Keith shook his head in disbelief. He glanced down at the ripples in his bedspread, bridging the space between them. Lance’s hand was resting there, it’d be so easy to just reach out and take it. Not the smoothest transition in the world, but fuck it, he was the red paladin. Instinct over skill, right? He laced their fingers together. Lance didn’t protest; they smiled at each other.

“I can’t believe we’re about to have a flirting contest,” Keith said, breaking whatever mushy, sappy crap had started to happen between them. He could only handle so much. 

“Are we? About to do that?”

“Oh _absolutely._ ”

“I mean . . .” Lance bit the inside of his cheek. Go big or go home. “We could just make out a little.”

“Hell no. You gotta work for that.”

“Come on, we could be freezing to death right now.” It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that Lance remembered, _oh yeah, we could be freezing to death right now._

“I’m sure we have plenty of time before that happens.”

* * *

 

Shiro stared at the screen his disbelief, his jaw hanging open. Before them on the bridge—for all the world to see—was the projected imagine of Keith—his Keith, his sweet, innocent, virginal little brother— _straddling_ Lance McClain, their mouths unceremoniously smashing together with all the competitive energy the two usually showed on the training deck, rerouted to this . . . this . . .

“Great work, Shiro!” Coran exclaimed, slapping the black paladin on the shoulder. “Your plan to get Keith and Lance to get to know each other worked out splendidly! I’d say the two are getting along better than ever.”

“I’ll say,” Allura agreed, feeling every bit as stunned as Shiro looked, but managing to hold it together with regal grace. “Perhaps we should inform them it was all a simulation . . .”

Her hand hovered over the intercom button, but Pidge hurried over and pushed it away. “No, no! Let it happen.”

“Uh, Pidge, I’m not sure they’re going to— _oh my god,”_ Hunk was cut off by Keith tearing off his shirt on the screen and casting it aside, the dirtiest look in his eye.

“They’re going to try and out fuck each other,” Pidge said, grinning in immense satisfaction. Really, what did they all  _think_ was going to happen?! Trapping Lance and Keith in a room along together--and Lance being naked had just been the icing on the cake. And Shiro's  _face,_ it was all too good. 

“Ah!” Shiro exclaimed, unable to form real words. He was waving his robotic arm back and forth in the direction of the screen, disbelief and confusion clear on his face. 

Poor guy, Pidge thought. Poor, clueless, guy. 

“Yeah, let’s uh . . . let’s give them some privacy,” Hunk agreed, loudly. Everyone snapped into action then, Allura shutting down the video feed, Coran hurrying off to turn the heating unit back on in the living quarters, Pidge going to Shiro’s rescue.

“I . . . This isn’t . . .” Shiro mumbled, eyes wide. 

Pidge thew an arm around him and started leading him towards the door. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay.”

 


End file.
